Shapers of Darkness: Book Four of Winds of the Forelands (Winds of the Forelands Tetralogy)

by David B. Coe

  “Did she ever speak to you of the conspiracy?”

  “Of course she did, my lord. We spoke of it quite often. How could we not? I’ve told you already . . . what we did. But if you mean, did she ever try to turn me to their cause, the answer is no.”

  “What would you have done if she had?”

  There was a right answer to this. She was certain of it. But she had no idea what it might have been. “I don’t know, my lord. I . . . I love her very much.” She was crying again, tears pouring from her eyes. “I want to tell you that I would have come to you and told you immediately of her betrayal.” She nearly choked on the word. “But I just don’t know.”

  Tebeo actually smiled. He stepped forward and gathered Evanthya in his arms so that she could sob like a babe against his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for being honest with me.”

  After what seemed a long time, Tebeo released her. Evanthya stepped back, wiping tears from her face, embarrassed that she should carry on so in front of her duke. She meant to apologize, but he didn’t give her the chance.

  “I’m sorry to have to ask this, First Minister, but do you have any idea where Fetnalla might have gone?”

  Strange that it hadn’t even occurred to her to wonder. “No, my lord, none.”

  “She must know that we’ll be looking for her, and she must know that if we find her, we’ll have no choice but to execute her.”

  The answer came with such force that she knew it had to be true. “She’ll go north, my lord.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You’ve believed for some time now that there was more to this siege and the war with Eibithar than just imperial ambition. And you’ve believed as well that there was a larger conflict looming, between Eandi and Qirsi. What if the leaders of the conspiracy are waiting for the armies in the north to destroy one another before beginning their own attack?”

  “You think she’s riding to war?”

  “Qirsi warriors and Eandi warriors are quite different, my lord. Fetnalla is a shaper, as well as a healer. Her powers would serve a Qirsi army quite well. So would mine, actually, though you may not believe it. One Qirsi can do quite a bit with mists and winds. Ten working together could overwhelm an entire Eandi army.” Another realization, the seed of it planted so long ago by Fetnalla’s dream. And abruptly it all made sense. Horrible, terrifying sense. “And,” she said, a tremor in her voice, “with a Weaver binding their powers into a single weapon, an army of Qirsi could defeat all the warriors of the Forelands.”

  His eyes grew wide. “You believe they’re led by a Weaver?”

  “Fetnalla spoke of one.” She blushed. “In her sleep actually, in the throes of a terrible dream. But how else could these Qirsi hope to prevail? In a battle of swords and arrows, they wouldn’t have a chance. But with a Weaver leading them, forging together their powers, they would be an imposing force.”

  “A Weaver,” the duke said again, breathless and awed. “I didn’t even think such people still walked the Forelands.”

  “I fear they do, my lord. Or at least one does. I believe Fetnalla has gone to him. If she truly did murder her duke, she’d think nothing of waging war beside a Weaver.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-four

  he end of Numar’s siege did little to lift the black cloud that hung like a curse over Castle Dantrielle. True, the armies of Solkara and Rassor had been defeated, their leaders imprisoned, the soldiers disarmed and banished from the city. But Dantrielle’s victory seemed hollow indeed. There were dead and wounded everywhere, many of them in the uniforms of Dantrielle’s foes and allies, but most of them wearing the red and black of Tebeo’s house. The castle itself had sustained so much damage to its walls, ramparts, and gates that it would be at least a year before all the repairs would be completed. And as if all of this were not enough to temper any celebration that might have greeted Numar’s surrender, Brall’s death lay heavy on the hearts of Tebeo, his allies, and, by all appearances, even his people, who remembered Orvinti’s duke as a reliable friend and formidable leader.

  In the days following the breaking of the siege, Evanthya tried as best she could to keep her mind on all that had to be done. Tebeo expected her to see to most of the more mundane tasks facing them—finding room to house the wounded, building great pyres for the dead, beginning work on the castle. With the armies of Kelt, Noltierre, Orvinti, and Tounstrel camped just beyond his walls, and with Numar, the duke of Rassor, and their closest advisors imprisoned in the castle towers, the duke had little time for such matters.

  Yet, even with all this to occupy her days and nights, the first minister could think only of Fetnalla and what she was accused of having done. At first she had tried to convince herself that Brall’s master of arms and his soldiers were wrong about her love, that she herself had been too quick to accept that Fetnalla had betrayed and killed her duke. Fetnalla was no traitor certainly she was no murderer. Like so many Eandi warriors, Traefan Sograna had little use for Evanthya’s people. Given the opportunity to make such accusations against Fetnalla, he would surely have taken it. The conspiracy had made all the Eandi fearful and suspicious. Brall had openly questioned Fetnalla’s loyalty for several turns now. How could his own mistrust not sow similar doubts in the minds of those men who served him? The duke’s death could have been caused by any number of things. Traefan merely chose to blame Fetnalla.

  Except that Evanthya knew this man—not as well as she knew Fetnalla, to be sure, but well enough. As dour and hostile toward most Qirsi as he was, he was also honorable and fair minded. And while the duke might have died from other causes, how was she to explain the dead soldiers found with him?

  More to the point, she no longer felt so confident that she had ever really known her love at all. Perhaps she had early on, when their love was young and bright, shining like a newly forged blade. But more recently, as the world beyond their bedrooms and the castle gardens began to intrude upon their love, bringing word of the conspiracy and rumblings of war and with them the deepening suspicions of their dukes, all that they shared began to tarnish. They fought more, confided in one another less. The last time they were together Fetnalla had been distant, withdrawn, despite the passion of their lovemaking. Evanthya wanted desperately to believe that Fetnalla could never turn away from the life they had shared in the courts, but the more she considered what the men of Orvinti had said of Brall’s murder, the more she realized that this life, which still held so much for her, had long since become a prison for her beloved. Brall’s mistrust and that of his other advisors had likely left her with few or no friends in Castle Orvinti. In all probability, their love had been the only thing keeping her from joining the conspiracy. It wasn’t surprising that it had ceased to be enough.

  Walking the ruined ramparts with Gabrys DinTavo, Evanthya brushed a tear from her cheek, hoping that Tebeo’s new master of arms wouldn’t notice. How many times had she been through all of this? How much longer would the mere thought of Fetnalla reduce her to tears?

  “First Minister?”

  She looked away, gazing out toward the Great Forest as she dabbed at her tears with the sleeve of her robe. Then she faced the master of arms again and forced a smile.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “My attention wandered briefly. You were saying?”

  He frowned. “Perhaps we should do this another time. As I’ve told you already, we’re making good progress with the gates and lower walls. The ramparts are less important right now, with the danger of a siege removed. The gates are what matter, and they should be fully repaired within half a turn.”

  Actually, she hadn’t heard him say this, either. She needed to clear her mind, to banish Fetnalla from her thoughts, at least for the time being.

  “I understand, armsmaster, and I agree with you about the gates. But the duke wanted to hear about all the repairs. So let’s continue and get this done, so that we can both see to more important matters.”

  Gabrys nodded, though his
frown lingered. “Well, as you can see, the damage to the ramparts is extensive. I imagine that it will be several turns before they’ll even begin to look right again. Repairing the battlements shouldn’t be too difficult, but the walkways themselves have been ruined, so . . .”

  Walking in silence as the master of arms droned on, Evanthya could imagine what Fetnalla would say. “How can you stand to listen to him? How can you stand to surround yourself with these Eandi men, all of them so avid for war and power? “ She could see her love’s face, her head tipped to the side, an ironic smile on her soft lips, a mischievous gleam in her pale yellow eyes. “You ‘d really choose them over me?”

  I didn’t choose. You did.

  “ . . . the stonemasons are going to have their hands full for some time to come. If we can prevail upon one of the other dukes to send some of their laborers to Dantrielle, we may be able to complete the repairs sooner, but failing that . . .”

  I thought we had decided to oppose the conspiracy. That was why we risked our lives and gave our gold to hire the assassin who killed Shurik. What happened?

  “What happened?” A breathless laugh. “What do you think happened? At the same time that we were hiring that assassin, Brall was already treating me like a traitor. While the Eandi should have been fighting the renegades, they were instead trying to murder one another. Grigor’s poison nearly killed me. Don’t you remember that? Your precious courts are no place for a Qirsi. The nobles fear us, they mistrust us, they’re more than willing to kill a few of us if it means attaining the power they covet so, but they don’t care a damn about what happens to us.”

  That’s not true. You can’t judge all of them because of men like Grigor and Brall.

  “Can’t I?”

  “ . . . You will tell him that, won’t you, First Minister?”

  Evanthya blinked, searching the man’s face. “Yes, of course. We need laborers and stonemasons from the other houses.”

  “Yes. And it’s also imperative that we see to the walkways first. He’ll want to repair the battlements—nobles always think the battlements are the most important part of the walls. They’re not. As long as my archers have somewhere to stand, they can protect the castle. The battlements are secondary.”

  She stopped walking, hoping that she might extricate herself from the conversation. “I’ll be sure to say as much to the duke, armsmaster. You have my word.”

  He nodded again, looking doubtful. “I’d be most grateful.” He indicated the rest of the wall with an open hand. “Do you wish to see more?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. You seem to have matters well in hand.”

  Gabrys inclined his head, acknowledging the compliment. “Thank you, First Minister.”

  “Of course. I’m certain that we’ll have occasion to speak again soon. The duke will want me to keep him informed of your progress.”

  “Until next time, then.”

  She did her best to smile, then hurried away, descending the nearest of the tower stairways and following the shadowed corridors back toward her chamber.

  “They don’t deserve your loyalty, Evanthya. Surely you see that. They’re weak-minded and selfish, and the only thing they can manage to agree on is their hatred of our kind.”

  That’s not true of Tebeo.

  “Of course it is. He may have managed to hide it from you up until now. But eventually the mask will slip, and you’ll realize that I’m right. And then you’ll come after me.”

  Evanthya halted in midstride, reaching out a hand to steady herself against the stone wall of the passageway.

  Go after her.

  Thinking of it now, she could hardly believe that she hadn’t considered this sooner. True, there had been much to occupy her since the breaking of the siege, and naturally her duke would object. He might even forbid her from going. But that wasn’t the reason she hadn’t thought of this before. Even knowing that Fetnalla was alive, Evanthya had mourned as if her love had died. Her loss was that complete, that final. Fetnalla had murdered her duke and betrayed the realm. She might as well be dead.

  “But I’m not.”

  No, you’re not. And I’m going to find you.

  “To what end?”

  Her duke would ask the same question. What could she hope to accomplish by going after Fetnalla? Fetnalla would never turn her back on the conspiracy. She had killed for it, and if the renegades were truly led by a Weaver, her punishment for betraying them in turn would be swift and absolute. And even if Evanthya did manage to turn her against the conspiracy, Fetnalla faced certain execution here in Aneira. There was nothing to be gained by pursuing her.

  “Yet you will.”

  Yes.

  “Why?”

  I don’t know. But I have to try.

  Evanthya straightened, removing her hand from the wall and taking a long breath. Then she went in search of her duke.

  She found him near the north barbican, speaking with the master mason. Seeing her approach, he said something else to the man before walking toward her. “First Minister! I’m glad to see you. I was about to have you summoned.”

  “Has something happened, my lord?”

  He shook his head, looking grim. “No. But I believe the time has come for me to pay a visit to Numar and Grestos. I’d like you with me.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I thought we might wish to speak with the archminister as well, but I wanted to ask your opinion before we did.”

  Her first thought was that Pronjed might know something of Fetnalla’s whereabouts. She and her love had long wondered if the archminister was a traitor; Fetnalla and Brall had even speculated that Pronjed was behind the strange death of King Carden the Third, though this would have meant that the man possessed mind-bending magic, one of the rarest and deepest Qirsi powers.

  In the next moment, however, she realized that no matter what the archminister might know, they would find it nearly impossible to pry the truth from him. If he did, in fact, possess delusion magic, he would be able to lie to them without detection.

  “I doubt there’s much to be gained by speaking with him, my lord.”

  “You fear him.”

  “I do. But it’s more than that.” She faltered. Even a duke as tolerant of Qirsi as Tebeo would be horrified to hear of mind-bending power. It was not a magic most Qirsi discussed freely, for it exemplified all that the nobles of the Forelands feared about her people. It facilitated deception and allowed sorcerers to control the thoughts and actions of unwitting Eandi. “He might tell us a great deal, but determining what to believe and what to dismiss will be next to impossible.”

  The duke smiled. “Come now, First Minister. I think that between the two of us, we can discern most of his lies.”

  “No, my lord, we can’t. Pronjed may have delusion magic. Brall and Fetnalla both thought so, and I’ve wondered for some time now.”

  “Delusion?”

  “Mind-bending. Delusion is what we Qirsi call it, because it makes it possible for one Qirsi to lie convincingly to another.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember now. They thought he had killed Carden.”

  “Yes, my lord. And I’ve thought it possible that he used his magic to get information from me when he and the regent came to Dantrielle a few turns back.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “You never told me that.”

  “I didn’t know for certain, my lord. I still don’t. I told you all that I could about the conversation itself, but I was afraid to say more.”

  Tebeo pressed his lips into a thin line, eyeing her grimly. After a few moments he shook his head. “I don’t care what powers the man possesses. I want to speak with him. Brall and Fetnalla also believed he might be with the conspiracy—as I rememberit, you did as well. I need to learn what I can from him.”

  She knew better than to argue the point further. “Yes, my lord.”

  He started toward the prison tower, walking so swiftly that Evanthya nearly had to run to keep pace. The tower
was brightly lit with torches and well guarded; Tebeo had stationed three times the normal number of men there since Numar’s capture. The men let Tebeo and Evanthya pass, of course, and four of them began to follow the duke up the stairs.

  “No,” Tebeo said. “We’ll speak with the regent in private.”

  One of the men, a captain, shook his head. “But, my lord—”

  “He’s in chains, isn’t he?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then we have nothing to fear from him.” The man’s brow remained creased. “I’m armed, Captain,” the duke said, putting a hand to the hilt of his blade. “And I’ll have the first minister with me.”

  Not that my powers will do us any good. She kept this thought to herself, and a moment later the captain relented, leaving Tebeo and Evanthya to climb the tower stairs on their own.

  The guard outside the regent’s chamber unlocked the door for the duke and the first minister, but remained in the corridor when they entered. Numar stood at the far end of the round chamber, shackled to the stone wall, his uniform torn and soiled, his hair, normally the color of wheat, now matted and dark. Yet even amid the filth, a prisoner in his enemy’s castle, the regent held himself straight and tall, with the regal bearing of a man who thought himself king.

  “Come to gloat, Tebeo?” Numar said, a sardonic smile springing to his lips and then vanishing just as quickly.

  “I didn’t want this war, Lord Rembrere, and I take no satisfaction in its ending. Too many men were lost on both sides.”

  “A fine sentiment, Tebeo, but you don’t fool me. You and your friends have been hoping for an end to the Solkaran Supremacy for some time now. I can’t believe you aren’t celebrating its downfall.”

  The duke glared at him, his eyes glittering like dark crystal in the torch fire. “Believe what you will. I don’t give a damn. I’ve come to inform you that messengers have been dispatched to the other houses informing them of your defeat and imprisonment and asking the other dukes to Dantrielle for a meeting of the council.”